


delicious

by artificialmeggie (ohmymeggs), pinkgrapefruit



Series: Behind Closed Doors [2]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Avengers Anthology, Food Metaphors, M/M, More fluff than angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 13:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19769089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmymeggs/pseuds/artificialmeggie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkgrapefruit/pseuds/pinkgrapefruit
Summary: relationships are sort of like pancakes(a seven step guide on how to bake a relationship - with pictures)





	delicious

**Author's Note:**

> hey! this is my addition to the avengers anthology. i took it kind of like a style study and it took a little bit of soul searching but do you know what i write a lot of? metaphors. so i wrote a longass metaphor for you all. thanks to frey for betaing as always (i owe that woman my life), let me know what you think and enjoy!

Relationships are sort of like pancakes.

_[step one]_

You get everything in a bowl. Or a front room. Or a bedroom. You whisk it all together and hope something sticks. If it doesn’t, you can always switch up the ingredients just a bit. A little extra egg, maybe some more sugar. It won’t be the same, but they might still rise. It’s mostly plain flour, which is to say it’s mostly padding and small talk in crowded dressing rooms when you’re mad, but you have things you need to say to make everything smooth over. There's a little vegetable oil - elbow grease, effort when neither of you has the energy, but you can’t quite bring yourselves to give up yet. It keeps it all hot and cooking, and maybe, one day, you won’t need it, you’ll have all the energy in the world to just be together. Satiated. There’s milk and eggs - necessities, even though you swear they do nothing. Salt for the little arguments and the fights and the bickering between shows and between sheets. The small moments, quiet and soft, and so fucking loud they make your head want to explode as they sizzle over the edge.

_[step two]_

Put it to the side for thirty minutes to let it settle. Walk away, have some fun, rediscover yourself with no one else there. Sleep with other people, sleep with no one at all, remember that when you’re unhappy it’s all your fault. Repeat. Hope that the mix (that the man) will still be there when you get back. Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. 

_[step three]_

Set the pan on medium heat. _Drag Race_ should do it. You won’t need grease, just let watching yourselves fall in love onscreen do the trick, let it sober you up nicely, cover you in oil, so that you can be set alight by the slightest spark between you. It will happen and you know it will - neither of you were ever very good at keeping behind the line, wearing goggles and taking the necessary precautions. So you’ll create a spark and it will set you alight, and, god, it will burn, because it’s the two of you and it was never easy to just sit still and be quiet. It’ll burn like a walk down memory lane in the moonlight, but the path is hot coals and you are being forced to dance on them blindly. Make sure the pan is well greased now, it would be a shame for all that hard work to burn.

_[step four]_

Drop the batter onto the pan and move gently to make a round shape - the pan must be hot for it to have the desired effect. You cannot cook pancakes on a lukewarm pan, just like you cannot sustain a relationship on embers. Go on tour together, see each other every day for a month, and then try to convince yourselves that the feelings burnt off with the alcohol. That when you look at his lips, yours don’t mirror the taste of honey and blueberries and morning walks. Like you don’t look at his hands and remember how they felt in your hair, on your hips - mouth wherever it was needed. You can keep pretending that you don’t smell ash when you go near him, but you’re burning the candle at both ends and there’s got to be a meeting point somewhere. While you wait, take a second to familiarise yourself with the way that he looks at you, eyes as soft as melted butter - like you hung the moon and the stars and made him pancakes one morning. You did all three.

_[step five]_

Cook until brown on both sides. Cook until the time has run out and you are both done wallowing in your sadness, far too ready to just enjoy life. There is no point in dwelling on your mistakes when you can be kissing and remembering what it feels like to be so refreshingly alive. Cook until the sugar has turned a golden colour of caramel, just like his skin. Let it sweeten a little more, as you find your way back to one and other, caramel on ivory, fingers intertwined.

_[step six]_

Serve. Serve with lemon and sugar for a little kick, the sweetness with the bitterness, till they leave a refreshing taste in your mouth. Plate up with chocolate spread in the colour of his eyes in the summer sun, as you breakfast together for the first time in months, listening to the birds chirping. Blueberries and honey, like he always used to take them pre-break, pre-disaster, pre-falling apart. 

_[step seven]_

Enjoy.

_[bonus step]_

Wash up as he stands behind you, arms around your waist like a weight, keeping you tethered to this plane of reality long enough that he doesn’t have to ruin his hands in the hot suds. Giggle as he presses warm, sticky kisses to the nape of your neck, must be stood on his tiptoes because there’s no chance he could reach it any other way. It’s beyond endearing and as he reaches to place his chin on your shoulder. Smell the honey on his tongue. 

Kiss him with an intensity you forgot you had in you. Kiss him until you forget that his lips used to taste like cherry chapstick because now they are all blueberries and sugar. When he bites your lip, smile into his mouth and breath a contented sigh that tastes of maple syrup with a little bit of hope mixed in. The good Canadian stuff, none of that Aunt Jemima’s bullshit. Take in a deep breath of his shampoo and hope that you will remember it when you leave in a few days. Hope that it will still be the same when you come back around again.

Take him to bed and leave sweet kisses all over his body. Remind him that he tastes delicious and tell him you’ll make pancakes every day if it ends like this. 

Make a promise you know you cannot keep, as you pack up your things, telling him you will be back as soon as possible. Try your _goddamn_ hardest to be calm as you hug him goodbye on the threshold. Hold his small frame against you, as you check the scent of his hair just to imprint it one last time. Kiss him and dream of the next time you will taste honey.

**Author's Note:**

> The third in the Behind Closed Doors Series. We'll be posting one for the next eight days until the entire series is complete.


End file.
